Demands

Tyrone’s night had started like every other. He sat on the edge of his worn calfskin sofa, his eyes half-closed as the relieving murmur of a late-night jazz station filled the living room. The smooth notes of the saxophone floated through the air, blending with the fragrance of the coffee he’d brewed just minutes before. His wife, was out with friends for a little gathering.

Tyrone hadn’t disapproved of staying home; in reality, he needed these calm minutes. Little did he know that the peace of the evening was about to be smashed. As he held his mug, the phone on the coffee table buzzed noisily, disturbing the tranquility of the room. Tyrone scowled, picking it up to check the caller ID. The number was new, but something around it made his heart skip a beat. He delayed for a moment some time recently replying.

“Hello?” Tyrone’s profound voice carried an aura of caution. There was quiet on the other end of the line, as if it was a black out sound of breathing. Just as he was about to